


Relapse

by seanced



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 05:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18277043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanced/pseuds/seanced
Summary: “Addiction isn’t the way to go, ____.”Ben speaks up after years of watching Klaus turn into an addict.





	Relapse

The force of Klaus’s shaky finger sent the spark wheel of his lighter into rotation, creating one sharp ticking noise and a tame but just as devastating fire he knew all too well. Sitting hunched over on his bed, he took out one cigarette from a pack almost empty. He cupped one hand over the lighter, holding the cigarette with the other. The paper crackled against the cigarette still after Klaus let go of the lighter. He took a weak inhale as the nicotine buzz slowly relaxed him like a mother hugging her child, temporarily erasing the memories of corpses and ghostly figures that had burnt themselves into his mind. He looked out of his window where a gloomy, cold afternoon resided outside. The weight on his chest began to lift, not to return until the high wore off.

Klaus exhaled, only able to hear the sound of his own heartbeat. Though he was rid once again of the spirits helplessly screaming at the only living vessel they could get their hands on, he no longer took pleasure in getting high. It was pretty much grueling routine at this point, with no escape in sight. It would have been much more preferable if cigarettes were his only habit, but he was also under the influence of alcohol and opioids. To make matters worse, his addiction was far from driven by no reason. Like other addicts, Klaus got high, drunk, buzzed, you name it, to forget. Forgetting about his trauma was, as he saw it, one step closer to separating himself from its effects. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the inside of that dreaded mausoleum. It was his own father that locked him in, not once, but multiple times when he was young, to further his potential. As Klaus grew older, he saw his ability to see and talk to the dead as more of a curse than a blessing. Rarely, if ever, used on missions, his ability caused his mind more harm than good. Rather than growing familiar, he grew scared of not only death and corpses but himself as well. Nothing was able to save him, then young and now more vulnerable, from the daily terror he endured.

To make matters worse, his own family refused to take him seriously. His brothers and sister treated him like an outsider, dismissed him as merely a junkie with no sense, and never acknowledged anything he said as logical. Klaus felt like a burden on those he‘d been raised with. Over time, however, he learned not to take it to heart. Though, in his time growing up in the Academy, his adoptive family treated him like all he was good for was his power, not even that seemed to satisfy them.

Terrified of the spirits that followed him around — lacerated in the skin, torn away from themselves, looking for closure and screaming his name with all they had in them — Klaus fell deep into addiction. It started with sneaking prescription pills into his home at a young age. Then it was cigarettes, then alcohol, then creative ways to hide drugs in everyday objects. Before he knew it, Klaus was high at almost every hour of the day, replacing one high with another. The smell of tobacco stained his clothes, and alcohol his breath. Though it was ruining his life, he went through life high every day with no intention of stopping.

Klaus took another drag of his cigarette, his posture a bit straighter and his shoulders slumped. His heartbeat gradually quickened, that and his breath being the only things he could hear in his eerily peaceful room. He ironically found himself spending more time in the mansion after his father died, his room left just as empty as he remembered.

“Klaus.”

He heard an unsettlingly calm, but still familiar voice from right next to him. Klaus glanced over and saw the image of his deceased brother Ben sitting at the foot of his bed.

The thing with Ben was that he was the only ghost Klaus could see no matter how high he was. He died when they were both young adults, but the manifestation of him aged as normal. Ben’s death caused the Academy to disband, which freed Klaus from its pressures as a result. The day after Ben’s funeral held memories of the first time Klaus took prescription drugs. He knew he was addicted when he, just weeks after he saw Ben for the first time, would reach for some kind of drug whenever Ben started to speak to him. He knew now, after years of having Ben around him constantly, it was no use getting rid of all of the ghosts. He wasn’t complaining, though, as Ben was a good voice of reason — something Klaus definitely needed — and pleasant to be around. Hanging out with him changed very little from when they were kids; they were just as close as ever.

Klaus turned in Ben’s direction, facing him with his cigarette in his hand. “Hey, nice to see you again.” He smiled to contrast the disappointed look on Ben’s face.

“Thought you said you were sobering up.” Ben said as Klaus moved so his back was against the wall and his legs laid straight. 

Klaus scoffed with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I am,” he lied, “I’m getting better.”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” Ben said as he watched Klaus inhale again, looking him dead in the eye doing so. “You’re killing yourself,” Ben hissed.

“Oh, now you say something?” Klaus raised his voice slightly. “You’ve watched me drug myself to death more than once and now you say something?” He slurred a few of his words as his tone grew more passive-aggressive the longer he spoke. It was true, Ben rarely said anything about Klaus’s addictions. Though he spoke little of his brother’s behavior, that did not mean he didn’t care.

“I’m tired of watching you destroy yourself.” Ben sighed, moving closer to Klaus.

“Do you know why I do this?” Klaus put up an accusatory tone, scoffing at Ben with a forced smile. “You just don’t understand what it’s like to have corpses follow you around day and night.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Addiction isn’t the way to go, Klaus.” he said.

“It’s the only thing that quiets them down!” Klaus whined before taking another drag from his cigarette, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

“How are you supposed to get sober if you can’t even see outside your own narrow point of view?” Ben snapped.

“I don’t want to get sober,” Klaus said, defeated, “I just want to be numb.”

“Look at you.” Ben moved closer to Klaus. “I’m tired of seeing you nearly kill yourself over and over, and for what?” Klaus heard not one crack in Ben’s voice, as opposed to his own, which hung by a thread and shook when he talked. “You’re wasting your life away, and for what?” Klaus sensed a desperation in Ben’s voice, a product of years of being forced to watch his brother take his own life for granted. 

“You saw everything that happened in rehab, nothing was working and—“

“Forget about rehab.” Ben said, silencing Klaus. “I don’t care who does it, I want you to get better.”

“The nightmares will always come back, though.” Klaus’s voice was small and devoid of joy as he thought about what sobriety had really done for him. 

“They can’t really harm you, Klaus.”

With that statement, Klaus knew for sure that Ben had no idea what it was really like to be him. The tears in his eyes slipped down his cheeks one after another, making his vision blurry as time seemed to stand still, the world revolving around he and Ben alone. He remembered all the times nightmares and visions woke him up screaming, draining all the energy from his body. Klaus’s hands shivered as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth. He thought about his next inhale, but his hand stood still and his cigarette had not yet touched his lips. Klaus gritted his teeth through tears as he sighed and got up from the bed. He trudged over to the ash tray on his windowsill and put out the cigarette. “Happy?” he said sharply as he faced his brother.

“Throw out the pack,” Ben demanded.

“Fine.” Klaus reluctantly grabbed his pack of cigarettes and threw it away, burying it in the depths of his trash can filled with nothing but old, crumpled paper, as Ben stared him down. “What about withdrawal?”

“Worry about it when it happens.” Ben got up as well, starting to follow Klaus again. “Let’s take your mind off all this for a bit.” Klaus took one last look at his trash can before following Ben’s instructions. He took a moment to feel the cold touch of the doorknob before closing the door with a gentle push. The first day of the rest of his life then finally began when he dragged himself out the doors of that mansion.


End file.
